The Lemurian Hourglass

--Fallujah, Iraq, 2004--1

Private First Class John M. Daniels squinted through the filthy windshield of the Army Humvee at the bright, sand-colored world around him. The streets, the buildings, the lower hems of the shrouded people that walked the streets…and of course, his own uniform. All that same shade of tanned, grainy dust.2

Low, Arabic murmuring came from the back, where sat two Iraqi POWs. The men – both of their clothes rife with dust – sat with hostile expressions on their bruised faces, their hands zip-tied behind them. Their sandy stink choked Daniels. Each spitting burst of gunfire and rumbling explosion seemed to make them more and more anxious to rejoin the insurgency.3

Little did they know, Daniels had read up rather well on his Arabic, and understood just about every word they said. He actually had to stifle laughter when he heard himself and the driver of the Humvee referred to as “eaters of feces.”4

The radio in the dash crackled out a call for backup, which was quickly cut off at the same moment that a deafening blast rocked the earth from no more than two blocks away. Every muscle in Daniels’ body tightened up; they had thought they were well away from the major combat zone.5

“Shit!” the driver accelerated, turning off the main route when he saw armed guerillas racing across the street a few blocks ahead. At least three carried rocket launchers over their dusty-robed shoulders. The two soldiers were not prepared for such heavy combat so far from what they thought were the front lines.6

“Get us the fuck out of here, man!” Daniels yelled, just before a short burst of gunfire raked his side of the Humvee.7

“Praise His name!” one of the POWs cried out. “Let the Americans see who has their hand on the Hourglass!”8

Daniels turned to regard the man, confused about what he had heard. The Hourglass?9

The insurgent met his gaze, and exposed his grimy teeth as he smiled wide. He spoke to Daniels with condescending disdain, hatred and triumph dripping from his voice.10

“You know nothing of our ancient ways, you piece of shit,” he taunted in Arabic, “We have turned over the Hourglass of the Oldest Empire, and our fortunes have returned to us. You cannot fight the power of such a treasure.”11

“Shut your mouth,” his companion ordered. “Maybe he can understand you. Don’t speak of things which these dogs don’t deserve to hear.”12

A rocket sailed through the air before the Humvee, sending sandy chunks of a nearby building slamming into the besieged vehicle. Daniels ducked low, watching the driver’s skull cave in under the weight of an iron girder.13

“Praise Allah! Faith always to the Hourglass of Lemur-land!” the Iraqi had his head raised in reverence, yet he and his friend were swiftly crushed by a chunk of concrete.14

Daniels lifted his head, his jaw quivering in shock. As he looked out the windshield, he saw an insurgent, his face concealed by a black and white head wrap, loading another rocket, and taking aim.15

Daniels closed his eyes, and made peace with the world just before he felt an entire planet collide with the back of his head.16

--Qutuf, United Arab Emirates, 2006--17

Luna hung crescent, open upward like a hammock as was normal in this part of the world. All those below seemed to take the celestial hint; it was a night of comfort and laziness, mandated by heaven as a time to slumber at home or chat with other sleepless types at the smoky pubs nearby.18

In one such establishment, there sat at a small table in the corner a man with a blue stripe running about the folds of his head wrap. Deep sea-colored eyes burned serious above a steep nose, but they often glowed with a surprising humor. He kept the beard on his thin face neatly trimmed.19

On this peaceful night, he was involved in a conversation with a friend of his, concerning local happenings and the wars in the west. It was not a dialogue which enlivened either friend a great deal, and as such the two parted ways after some minutes.20

When they got up to leave the pub, another man followed.21

The man in the blue-striped turban stood outside in the sandy streets of the oasis town, admiring the moon for a few moments. He relished the feel of the soft night breeze after hours in the cramped, smoky pub. Feeling tired, he lit up a cigarette and began to walk home.22

“Excuse me, Mr. Mu’tamid?” 23

Mu’tamid stopped, closing his eyes and releasing a growling sigh. Just when he thought it had ended, the same scenario was about to start again.24

Turning about, Mu’tamid saw the figure that played host to the cracked voice unraveling the scarves around its face. Beneath the heavy shrouds lay a face Mu’tamid had come to know well, though not by choice. He was the definition of a Westerner, albeit one who had ceased caring for his own health; his dirty, unkempt hair was a rather vibrant blond, his bagged and bloodshot eyes bright azure. His features were strong and angular, his jaw wide even as his cheeks were sunken. Sweat and grime coated his skin. Heavy breaths leant a deceptive weakness to his apparently-strong frame and height.25

Mu’tamid looked at his feet, and turned a frustrated expression on the Westerner.26

“I have no idea what you think I’ll say different this time, Daniels. I can’t help you. No one can. Leave me alone.”27

“Every person I’ve asked has told me your name, Mr. Mu’tamid,” he replied, his desperate eyes gleaming with a pitiful sincerity that made it impossible for Mu’tamid to look away. He looked like he was not far from prostrating himself. “Every lead I’ve followed ends with you. Please – you’re my only hope.”28

Mu’tamid took a drag from his cigarette, then dropped it on the sandy street to smash it underfoot. He looked into the Westerner’s eyes, trying to remove all emotion from his own. His next words tightened his throat.29

“If you knew anything about this myth you are chasing, you would know that is not true.”30

Mu’tamid turned and left for home, not looking back even as he heard the pathetic soul break down and weep.31

“Sorry about meeting so far off the beaten trail, Ahmet,” said Mu’tamid to his friend, “but the Westerner tailed me to the pub last night.”32

Ahmet opened a bottle of Murree and took a swig. “Why don’t you just tell him, Karim? Point him the right way and get him off your back.”33

“It’s a family secret, Ahmet, protected for generations,” said Mu’tamid, waving about his own bottle of the Pakistani beer. “And that aside, what could I offer the poor bastard but false hopes?”34

“What do you care what happens to him?” replied Ahmet, frowning. “Maybe he’ll die in the desert, maybe he’ll be arrested by the Saudis. It’s not your fault, he’s the one who wants to chase down some worthless old ruins.”35

Mu’tamid would hardly have called them worthless, but he ignored his friend’s remark. “Isn’t it my fault, if I let the man go to his death for the Hourglass, when I know that it cannot help him the way he believes?”36

“He was in Iraq just a year or two ago, was he not? He knows how to survive in the desert.”37

“Forget him, then; do I not have some duty, if only to protect the ruins, to tell him the true nature of the Hourglass?”38

“The fool won’t listen,” said Ahmet, rolling his eyes. “You know they never do.”39

Mu’tamid sighed, looking out the pub window into the waning sunlight. “Yes, the myth must be real for them. It has to be real. And I’m just some xenophobic Persian who’s lying to protect my ancient treasure.”40

“No, you’re wrong about that,” Ahmet replied, an ironic smirk touching his features, “you’re a xenophobic Arab. All Muslims are Arabs to them.”41

Mu’tamid chuckled and shook his head, taking a drink. He stared down at the table for a time, then met Ahmet’s gaze again.42

“Alright, I’ll tell him,” he said as he lifted the Murree once more. He paused with the mouth of the bottle just touching his lips, and added, “But if he dies and comes back for me, I’m going to haunt your sorry ass.”43

“What a terrible waste of eternity,” Ahmet replied. They touched bottles, and continued drinking.44

Daniels sat on his ragged sleeping bag, his back against the wall of his empty room. From the window above his head, sounds of Arabic laughter and the plucking of an oud followed blue moonlight into the otherwise dark room. Whoever had occupied this room before him had left the strong, sweet smell of opium in their wake.45

He lifted his left hand, studying the reflection of the curving moon in the glint on his ring finger. Unconsciously, the fingers on his right hand rubbed the smooth metal surface of the twin ring worn on a chain around his neck. He saw her pulling it from her finger, a scene right out of his nightmares, right out of his life.46

Daniels released his hold on the ring. He dropped his hands into his lap, and listened to the sounds outside. His throat got tighter.47

A soft knock shook the old, warped door, its peeling paint shedding small chips beneath the impact. With the echoing rap came a voice.48

“Daniels? You in there?”49

The Westerner did a double take at the voice. Was it actually him? Had he changed his mind?50

“Mu’tamid? Is that you?”51

“Yes, it’s me. Open the door.”52

He rose to his feet in the darkness, dizzy after sitting in one place for hours. With heavy breath and one hand on his gun – his days at war taught him to trust no one – he opened the creaking door.53

Mu’tamid squinted in the doorway a few seconds, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The smells of sweat and old smoke that lingered in the room turned up the Persian’s nose. Still, he entered.54

“I’m sorry I have no place for you to sit,” Daniels remarked, shutting the door behind his guest and retreating to his sleeping bag. He looked up at the man he had been hounding for days, relieved and surprised that Mu’tamid had not thrown out any of the letters Daniels had used to invite him here.55

“I don’t plan on an extended stay, Daniels,” Mu’tamid said, crossing his arms. “I just want to talk to you about the Hourglass.”56

Daniels nodded, looking up at Mu’tamid with a hollow expression on his face. He was too tired and beaten to give a proper physical acknowledgment that he was about to be handed what he had suffered for.57

“It’s a secret that my family has kept for a very long time, Daniels. I need to know before I let it out that I’m doing so for a very good reason.”58

Mu’tamid paused, his face stern lines traced in lunar blue as he looked out the window. He was Prometheus, debating whether to pass the fire on to man.59

“Why do you want to find the Lemurian Hourglass?”60

“I want to turn it over,” Daniels answered.61

Mu’tamid smirked, rubbing his hands over his eyes.62

“Isn’t that what they always want?” he asked no one. He looked at Daniels again. “You believe that turning over a nine thousand-year-old hourglass will improve your life?”63

“That’s what it does, right?” Daniels shot back. “I heard the Iraqi POWs talking about it, just before…before my discharge. Whoever turns over the Lemurian Hourglass will have a complete reversal of fortunes. A new beginning. That’s how they became the most powerful kingdom in this region until Sumer. All they had to do was have their king turn the Hourglass, and the magic would save them from disaster.”64

Daniels hadn’t realized how fervent he sounded until he saw the surprise in Mu’tamid’s eyes. He didn’t care.65

“Daniels, the Hourglass is not some Stone Age good luck charm,” Mu’tamid said, visibly worried by the Westerner’s fanaticism. “It is not the artifact you think it is, and it cannot help you in the way you expect.”66

“No,” Daniels said, breaking eye contact. An old wound in the back of his skull flared up. “You’re lying. Lying to protect your secret.”67

“You think the Hourglass is something that you can touch, and it will make everything better. There is nothing true about this belief.”68

“Bullshit!” Daniels yelled, jumping to his feet. He forgot that he was holding his gun, and waved it about as he spoke. “I know it, I know it like I know my own face in the mirror! I’m going to turn the hourglass, and she’ll come back to me! That’s the only thing that can happen, because that’s the only thing I need to happen!”69

Mu’tamid eyed the ring on the chain that had fallen out of Daniels’ shirt. “Putting your faith into a myth is dangerous, Daniels. It will only make things worse for you, and your love will not come back to you then.”70

Daniels lost it; it made him sick to hear anyone in this part of the world even talk about her. “What’s the matter, is a proud Arab like you too high-and-mighty to let the dirty American infidel set foot inside your precious temple?”71

A moment of rage twisted Mu’tamid’s face, but he let it subside. With a sigh, he spoke again.72

“Find, Daniels. If the Hourglass is what you want, I shall give it to you. You have a compass?”73

Daniels counted to three, and leaned back against the wall. A night breeze blew into the room, and he realized he was covered in sweat. He put away his gun, then produced a shiny metal disk from one of the pockets of his tattered fatigues.74

“Good,” Mu’tamid said, “you’ll need it. Follow the main road here as far west as it goes, to a tiny oasis town called Aradah. That is as close as you can get and still have a bed to sleep in, and I suggest you take advantage of that. Next, you must enter the desert and head south, crossing the Saudi border. Just beyond the crossing, you will find the ziggurat.75

“Or perhaps you won’t,” Mu’tamid continued, allowing a bit more malice to slip into his voice. “Members of my family who have ventured to the Hourglass a hundred times have been unable to find it on the hundred-first; of this I speak truthfully. Part of the legend says that the ziggurat can be seen only if it so wishes. I hope for your sake, Daniels, that it takes a liking to you.”76

Mu’tamid turned to leave, but heard Daniels stand up quick behind him.77

“Mr. Mu’tamid, wait!”78

Mu’tamid looked back, and saw the familiar look of desperation on Daniels’ face. It was tinged with a hint of gratitude.79

“Thank you,” he said. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”80

Mu’tamid sighed. “Yes I do. Far, far too much.”81

He left.82

Sand…still more sand.83

The thought entered Daniels’ mind for what seemed like the thousandth time that day, as he crested yet another massive dune to be greeted not by the sight of a looming ruin, but by more of the endless wasteland.84

He had been out walking since before dawn, and now the sun was past its peak, roasting him alive. He finished off his third canteen of the day, and opened the fourth. Rationing water was like self-inflicted torture.85

Daniels produced his compass; he was still headed south, just as Mu’tamid directed. With the lack of any real landmarks, Daniels could not accurately gauge how far he had gone, or how close he was to the Saudi border. His nearest estimate had him 9 miles out from Aradah, which would give him another mile and a half to go.86

And how far after that? Daniels wondered. Mu’tamid had not specified just how far inside Saudi Arabia the ziggurat lay. For all he knew, maybe he was out here on his way to a death in emptiness.87

Everything was falling apart. Throughout the whole trip, some small voice of reason from his past before the war had been screaming at him to just give up and go the hell home. Out here, with nothing but the gritty, hot wind and his own silent footsteps, that voice was getting louder.88

Daniels stared at the horizon as he crested yet another dune. Instead of noting the constant presence of more sand, however, Daniels found the distant shimmer of a mirage on the horizon pulling a trigger that sent his mind reeling backwards in time.89

He sat beneath the buzzing glow of fluorescent lights, somewhere far removed from where he had been during the attack. He had no idea how much time had passed, but gunshots still zipped back and forth inside his ears. The feeling of roiling grains of desert sand lingered on his clean skin. He thought his helmet was still strapped to his head, but after feeling for a bit he discovered that it was bandages.90

A doctor came, after a time, and rambled something about trauma, and accelerated onset of some kind of mental illness. Daniels remembered little of it, and had found himself missing small patches of every day since. It hadn’t really scared him at the time; hell, he hadn’t really felt anything but pain and confusion after that first awakening. What had come to scare him was that those tiny, insignificant patches were beginning to get bigger.91

There were more and more days when he woke up, and didn’t recall where he was. If he did know, then he might not remember how or why he had come to that particular place. He heard gunshots in his sleep, and felt watchful eyes in every pool of shadow. Sudden bouts of crippling sorrow and barely-containable rage split his heart open and let the poisons of war pour forth onto everyone around him.92

And that was why the second ring was burning on his chest as he staggered through the desert.93

Daniels thought about how much worse it could have been. Maybe that infantry team would have been a few more seconds in taking out that insurgent, and the bastard would have got his aim dead-on. Maybe then Daniels wouldn’t be dragging his ass across the desert right now, wondering why the world seemed to be composed of fewer parts than it had been before the war. Why nothing stayed together in his head, and why no one else could see that the Lemurian Hourglass was real, and was his only hope.94

He had lied, though. Oh yes, if Daniels had told Mu’tamid the absolute truth, there was no way the greedy Arab would have let him anywhere near his precious treasure. The truth was, Daniels had never had any intention of simply turning over the Hourglass; far from it.95

He was going to destroy it.96

Daniels did not want a reversal of fortunes. At this point, what could he hope for? She was gone forever, and he could feel himself falling apart more and more each day. No, Daniels knew the only way to fix his life was to start it over.97

He would find the Hourglass, and, as he held it in his hands, he would smash it open, and unleash the sands of time. Then, he could start his fortunes over again. Yes, he could do it differently this time. He wouldn’t go anywhere near Iraq.98

Something was missing in this line of thought. He knew it should have been there, but it was lost in the stifling haze where the desert met mental ruin.99

Fuck it. Must not have mattered.100

Daniels took another swig from his canteen. As much as he hated Iraq and what had happened to him there, his last memories of full coherence and mental stability were of his months spent in the Army. It was the last time he could remember feeling like a whole person. Perhaps, in some disconnected portion of his psyche, he knew (or thought he knew) that to fix what had happened to him in the Middle East, he must seek a solution from the Middle East.101

He crested another sand dune, and didn’t realize what he was looking at until a couple of mirages surrounding it vanished, and the thing itself remained.102

The ziggurat.103

It was huge; even from such a distance as Daniels was, the size and power of the titan thing amazed him. It stood, cube and squat and the color of sand – wasn’t everything? – with three immense staircases on its front side, each approaching the top from a different direction. Another, smaller structure stood upon the main building. It was the only sign of human habitation Daniels had seen since leaving Aradah that morning, and though it was naught but an abandoned ruin, he suddenly felt the return of the oppressive voyeur that is civilization.104

The thing filled Daniels with wonder, yes. But it also terrified him. It was a thing born of man, yet had become immortal and withstood the test of millennia. It was a remnant of a time so foreign and ancient that even those who lived around it could not have understood the world of their ancestors, the people who had raised it up. And Daniels could scarcely understand the world of the descendants themselves.105

“I’ve put up with it as long as I can, John.”106

Daniels looked around the desert, a new fear chilling him out in this heat. Where had her voice come from? Was she here? How was it possible?107

“You won’t get yourself some help, not from the doctors or from me.”108

“Anna?” he called, yelling into the sandy wind that dried out his lips and stung his eyes. “Where are you?”109

“I tried to be here for you. I really did. But sometimes I think you’d rather be sick than be with me.”110

“Anna, please!” he raced down the side of the dune, looking for her face in the sliding sands. He got momentary flashes of the room it had happened in, but nothing would stick. She, too, was slipping away from him.111

“Now, this is it. After last night, no more.”112

“Anna, no! I didn’t mean to do it! I didn’t mean it, please!” He saw the bruises on the gorgeous face he had loved so much, saw her slide the ring off of her lovely fingers.113

“Goodbye, John. Good luck; you’re going to need it.”114

A door clicked shut in his head, just as it had in their home. He sunk to his knees.115

“Anna! Anna!”116

The desert answered him with only wind.117

“I love you,” he whispered to the sand around him. It blew away in the constant gusts.118

Daniels looked south, at the top of the ziggurat visible above the crest of the next dune. He rose to his feet, and resumed walking.119

“And I will love you again.”120

Setting foot on the thing felt like a blasphemy. Daniels regretted every trespassing step that he took up the silent behemoth, feeling that he may indeed be unworthy of treading here. When he reached the peak and looked into the gaping mouth of the ziggurat’s entryway, he thought he may as well be walking into Hades.121

He moved his eyes about the endless sea of sand. The colossal structure on which he stood seemed unbelievably out of place; perhaps it was from somewhere else, the tip of an alien iceberg that just happened to fall into the middle of a wasteland?122

Daniels got over his reservations fairly quickly when he saw the position of the sun. There was no way he’d make it back to Aradah before nightfall.123

Doesn’t matter, he thought with a smile. I’m not going back there. Not tonight, or ever again. Where I’m going, I won’t ever hear about Aradah.124

He clicked on his flashlight, and stepped through the ancient threshold. All sounds from outside died instantly. Daniels unclipped his gun in its holster, deciding that he wanted it in his hand for this. He didn’t expect to run into any Iraqi insurgents inside the Lemurian ziggurat, but fear of the unknown can give one a surprising faith in things that create the illusion of safety.125

The flashlight danced over painted murals along the crumbling walls. On one side, Daniels saw an ancient army, armed with spears and clubs, routing their enemy and hacking apart those who did not flee quickly enough. In the next panel, a man adorned in jewelry drove a solid-wheeled chariot over tiny, frail-looking enemies.126

Present by his side was a tiny figure of an hourglass.127

Daniels continued along the ruined hallway, noting with admiration the exquisitely carved images of the rising sun that decorated the blue tiles both above and below the murals. There were hourglasses between each one of them as well. He became dizzy with anticipation, and realized with a feel along his sweaty arms that dehydration also played no small part. He took a greedy drink, breathing the tomblike air through his nostrils as he did so. What was the point in rationing now? He wouldn’t need water after this.128

The echoing hollowness of a vast, empty space floated up to Daniels’ ears. Up ahead, the hallway ended with a hole in the floor, where an old ladder appeared to be the only means downward.129

Daniels pointed his flashlight down the hole, and saw another stone floor, along with stairs leading away to the right. Whatever else was down there, this had to be the great empty room he was sensing.130

Here we go, he thought, gripping the flashlight in his teeth as he descended the rickety ladder. Upon reaching the bottom, he took the flashlight into his hand again, and turned around to face the emptiness.131

“Dear God,” he said aloud. It echoed in the grotto, muffled only the slightest bit by the layer of sand that was piled on the floor – the floor that sloped at acute angles toward the small, black hole in the center of the room. It was the top level of an immense hourglass! On each of the four walls was the same mural of an hourglass in mid-turn, silhouetted against a rising sun. The colors were done brilliantly in ancient painted tiles.132

Daniels rapidly descended the stone stairway, and stepped eagerly into the cool, damp ankle-deep sand. He tested his way carefully, fearful that the sand might follow another pattern of hourglasses and be deepest around the hole. No such foul luck.133

Daniels stood over the hole to the bottom of the glass, and noted the odd smell of mildew and standing water. Casting the beam of his light downward, the Westerner noted with some horror that his journey may be over, after all.134

Eight feet down from the hole, the entire bottom level was filled with filthy water.135

No. No, no no! This can’t be where it ends!136

A new bout of rage possessed him then. Rather than find a means to take it out, however, Daniels simply removed the coil of rope from his backpack, and tied it around a stone pillar. Walking backwards, he prepared to go down to the bottom level for a swim.137

“Daniels, what in God’s name are you doing?”138

Mu’tamid’s voice cut the dark chamber’s silence like an iron blade. The Persian stood at the base of the ladder, an electric lantern in hand and a terrified expression on his face. Several canteens hung along his belt.139

“I’m going to find the Hourglass you led me too, Mu’tamid,” Daniels replied, sitting down on the edge of the hole. “It’s obviously not up here, so it must be somewhere down in the bottom. I’ve come all this way, and it would be pretty foolish to just give up because of a little water.140

“Besides,” he said, a mad smile contorting his features, “it was hot out there today. I could use a swim!”141

“Daniels, you’re going to die down there for nothing!”142

“Oh no. No, Mu’tamid, don’t start this now. You’ve pointed me the way here, and now I intend to finish what I came here to do. I’m going to smash your pretty little Hourglass, and then I’m going to start the sands of my life pouring again, but in a better way this time! And if you want to stop me,” Daniels patted his gun, “come here and fucking try.”143

Mu’tamid sighed; he thought about how he was going to strangle Ahmet later. Then he met Daniels’ wild-eyed glare.144

“Alright Daniels, so you’re going to smash the hourglass, and then you’re going to turn it over to start your life again. That makes no sense.”145

“What?” Daniels’ earlier feeling that he had missed something returned; he had a feeling whatever it was, Mu’tamid had caught it.146

“How are you going to put the damn thing back together, Daniels? You brought glue with you, hmm? You have your own glassblowing shop in that backpack of yours? What the hell is wrong with you?”147

“What’s wrong with me?” Daniels catapulted himself up out of the hole, shouting. “Everything is wrong! My life has fallen apart, and nothing I can do will fix it! Now I find something here, something that might give me a second chance, and you’re trying to hold it from me!”148

The crazed American pulled out his gun again, kicking the sand as he stalked closer to Mu’tamid. The Persian reached to his belt for a gun of his own, but Daniels stopped short.149

“Now you’re going to tell me,” Daniels breathed, wild-eyed, “no evading this time. Where is it?”150

Mu’tamid approached Daniels, his feet shuffling through the sand ever so slowly.151

“Daniels, it is as I’ve told you. The Lemurian Hourglass is not a real artifact. It is not something you can pick up and touch. Have you paid no attention to the murals?” He gestured to the faded tiles that surrounded them.152

Confusion washed over Daniels’ face. “What? What are you trying to pull now? This is just decoration, a stupid pattern; a rising sun and a turning hourglass, sun, hourglass, sun, hourglass. A goddamn turning hourglass for every rising sun. A million hourglasses, and none of them the one that –,”153

He stopped, stricken as realization drove an invisible lance through his mind. He turned to the mural on the nearest wall, stumbling over to run his hands along it. Tears brimmed in his red, irritated eyes.154

“I’m sorry, Daniels. But this is it.” Mu’tamid said, looking at the American’s back as sobs heaved his frame. “You can’t start over. Not down here, anyway.”155

Daniels turned to look at Mu’tamid through blurry eyes, then back to the faded gold of the rising sun on the wall. He wanted to cast himself into the deadly waters below, end it once and for all, but… he didn’t want to die down here, in a place he did not belong, surrounded by the empty shell of a civilization whose people ceased to walk the earth so many years ago. There could be no solace here, no closure or peace in a death within these walls.156

He sank to his knees, leaned his forehead against the wall, and wept.157

“I’m sorry, Daniels,” Mu’tamid offered. “I know how much this meant to you.”158

“Yeah,” the Westerner replied in a shaky voice. “Far, far too much.”159

“Come on,” the Persian said, helping Daniels to his feet, “you needn’t worry about the way back; I’ve got camels for us. A better ride across the desert can’t be found.”160

Daniels nodded, not looking at Mu’tamid.161

“I need help,” he said.162

“It’s good you can admit that.”163

“I need help very, very badly.”164

“Yes,” Mu’tamid said, “I believe your fortunes have begun to turn.”165

Riding north on a pair of reliable dromedaries, the two men began the slow up-and-down journey that would take them the ten miles back to Aradah, and civilization. Daniels looked back once, just to see the ziggurat in all its splendor, but it seemed the desert had swallowed it up again.166

It mattered not. Daniels had found the Hourglass.167